She poured the steaming coffee into the thick mugs but spoke with the command of a CEO at the head of a boardroom. Charlie watched her impatiently brush her thick braid off her shoulder and almost lost track of the conversation. How in hell could he concentrate when his brains had sunk below his belt?
“John’s working with the DA’s office these days. He found your Russians in an FBI suspect file. They’ve compiled a case of circumstantial evidence that implicates their connections with the Russian mob, but they don’t have enough to charge them. John sent the FBI the information you forwarded. They have an agent on the way to the islands now. I don’t think your friends will be very happy when their records are turned over to the government.”
Charlie experienced a sinking sensation in his gut. “Let me guess. Jacobsen knows I was in St. Lucia and that I’m probably responsible for the FBI probe. He knows I was with Penelope. He’s traced Penelope back here.” He threw Penny a look asking for verification. “He wouldn’t have much trouble doing that, would he?”
She shrugged but he could see the uneasiness in her eyes. “If he has Internet connections, he can look up my name in an instant. There aren’t too many Penelope Albrights in the country.”
Charlie clenched his fist around the mug. “Then Jacobsen and friends have two choices: They can assume the FBI is on to them and run, or they can try to find out just how much evidence we turned over.”
“It’s all in the computer,” Penelope murmured nervously.
“And both computers are here,” Charlie finished for her. “I think it’s time you ladies took a vacation.”
He ignored the hand clasp the sisters exchanged. This time, he was in charge, and he was getting them the hell out of here.
TWENTY-TWO
Beth listened in fascination as Penelope bridled at Charlie’s orders. She’d never actually understood the meaning of the word bridled until she saw her sister’s silhouette outlined against the lamplight. Penny’s head jerked back and her chin shot up as if someone had stuffed a bit in her mouth.
“Get out, Charlie,” Penelope responded with what Beth thought admirable control. “You have no authority to tell us what to do. We’re perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves. Go look for Raul.”
“I’m damned well not budging until this is over.”
Beth would have termed the tone of Charlie’s reply mulish, had she not caught a hint of something else behind his words. She could almost swear that Penny’s words had hurt that great mountain of man as much as if she’d slapped him.
She didn’t know why she sympathized with Charlie, other than that she hadn’t adopted her sister’s belief that all men were jerks. Of course, she didn’t work with them all day as Penny did. But Beth had the ability to see beyond their bluff and bluster. She wished she didn’t. It would be much easier if she could just say to hell with them all, but she couldn’t. She had a son of her own. She knew better.
“Penny, I think we’d better listen to Mr. Smith,” Beth said quietly, leaping into the conversation before Charlie could stick another foot in his mouth. She thought he might be the kind of man accustomed to people jumping at his commands.
“Call me Charlie, or I’ll think you’re talking about my dad,” he reminded her. “I’m glad one of you has her thinking cap on.”
Dumb, Charlie, Beth wanted to say, but she’d learned to hold her tongue better than Penelope. Before her twin could explode, she stood up between them. “Remind me to give you lessons in tact sometime, Charlie. Could this discussion wait until morning when we’re all not so tired?”
“Beth, go on to bed,” Penelope insisted with concern. “I can handle Charlie.”
“Yeah, she can handle me real good.”
From the shadowy movement, Beth guessed Charlie had leaned back on the sofa and crossed his arms. She could almost hear the lascivious grin in his voice.
If she weren’t so exasperated with his behavior, she would have grinned. No one had ever talked to Penelope like that. Most men were scared to death of her and tiptoed around her with absurd caution. Charlie Smith behaved like an engaging elephant, fearlessly stomping wherever he chose. She suspected he might have more brains than an elephant and knew darn well whose toes he stomped and why.
“I’m not going to bed until the two of you agree to behave like adults instead of quarreling children.” She turned toward Penelope. “If there’s any danger here, we need all the help we can get. I’m not too swift at dodging gunmen and kidnappers.” She shouldn’t dump the guilt on her sister, but she was too tired to look for anything more effective. Dealing with John these last few days had drained what little energy she possessed.
Beth heard an intake of breath and the rustle of fabric as Penelope stiffened, then sagged in surrender. Once upon a time, she’d been able to read her twin’s expressions like a book. Now she recognized her breathing patterns. Penny would do anything she asked. Beth wouldn’t take such outrageous advantage of her except that this was for her sister’s own good. Charlie Smith seemed like the kind of man who would look out for Penny, and if the chemistry between these two was any indication, her twin sister found Charlie more interesting than any other man in her life.
“We’re in a secured building,” Penelope reminded them, putting up one final struggle. “What can anyone do? Charlie has business of his own to tend to. We can’t ask him to babysit us.”
“If the FBI has just flown to the islands, the Russians might not be looking for us here yet, but my home is the first place they’ll go when they do.” The amusement disappeared from Charlie’s voice as he focused his attention on Penelope, ignoring Beth between them.
Beth approved. Too many people thought they either had to touch her constantly, or behaved as if she were part of the furniture. Apparently, Charlie simply had eyes for no one but Penelope.
“Then you’ll stay here tonight,” Beth said decisively. “I had John set up a cot in the spare room when we thought Tammy was coming. We’ve been using the room for storage, so I must apologize for its condition.” Judging his size from the shadow in front of her, she looked at Charlie with a measure of doubt. “I’m not certain you’ll fit on the cot though.”
She heard the shrug in Charlie’s reply. “I can sleep on the sofa. It’s no big deal.”
She knew the instant his attention returned to Penelope. Beth thought she’d faint if John ever focused on her that way. The electricity was almost palpable.
“The sofa is too narrow for you,” Penelope replied tiredly. “Beth, go on to bed. We’ll work it out.” Her chin stuck out again. “But I’m going back to work in the morning.”
“We’ll talk about it then,” Beth reminded her. “And maybe we should set a chair or something in front of the door, just in case.”
“I don’t think they’re the type to break down doors,” Charlie said gently, stepping from her path so she didn’t have to maneuver around him. “Just don’t answer the phone. I suspect terrorism is more up their alley.”
Beth threw a half smile in his direction and nodded. “I’ll keep the answering machine on. Good night, Charlie. I’m glad we met.”
Penelope took a deep breath as Beth glided from the room, leaving her alone with Charlie. She didn’t want to look at him. The apartment was reasonably spacious, but Charlie had a way of filling a room with his presence. She could practically feel him now, though her back was turned to him.
“I’m quite capable of sleeping on the floor if you think I’ll roll off the sofa and wake you up with the noise,” he said dryly from behind her.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Penelope spoke more sharply than she’d intended. Frustration ate at her insides, and fear gnawed around the edges. If she were completely rational, she might recognize that her fear was more of Charlie and her own feelings for him than of their circumstances, but she wasn’t ready for rationality.
“I’m not doing this just to annoy you,” he said with patience. “I got you into this mess, and I want to get you o
ut.”
She breathed again. That was the tactic. She just wanted out. Penelope turned, and the intensity of Charlie’s gaze almost knocked her over. She saw things there that terrified her. She blinked and looked away. “If you don’t think they’ll come here tonight, then you don’t need to act as guard dog. Take my bed. I can sleep on the sofa.”
Charlie tucked his finger under her chin and urged her head up to meet his gaze. “We’re not strangers anymore, Penny. We’ve managed to share a bed these last few nights without killing each other. And unless you keep rubbers in your bedside drawer, I don’t dare touch you in any other way, so you’re safe from me.”
She heard his sincerity, ached at his words, but nodded and jerked her head away. “If I had them, they’d be expired by now,” she said wryly. “Take a shower while I clean up here.”
Charlie caught her arm before she escaped. “Your honesty doesn’t scare me, Penny. If you want to chase me away, show me your indifference.”
He brushed a kiss across her hair, dropped her arm, and stalked away before she could find an adequate response.
Her indifference. What a word. Charlie Smith must be reading dictionaries in his spare time. Rattled and vaguely amused, Penelope gathered dirty cups on the tray and carried them to the kitchen.
As the water pounded in the other room, an image of Charlie naked sprang to mind. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d been naked and writhing in Charlie’s arms.
God, she couldn’t stand it. She set the tray on the counter and buried her flushed face in her hands. Why did Charlie have to be the one who taught her to like sex? She didn’t believe in fast and loose affairs. She believed in her career, first and foremost, followed by family and commitment. She couldn’t have any of that with Charlie. They would kill each other before they even talked of wedding bells.
She’d just agreed to go to bed with him. Why didn’t she cut her own throat and get it over with?
***
Wrapped in one of Penelope’s generous bath towels, Charlie cautiously stepped into the room she’d indicated was hers. He heard her enter the shower he’d just vacated, so he had time to look around. The faint scent of her floral perfume wafted around him, and he felt like a trespasser in this all-feminine territory. Except it wasn’t as foreign a territory as he’d assumed, he realized as he switched on the bedside lamp.
One entire wall was filled with crowded bookshelves. He scanned some of the titles with curiosity, discovering a number of the techno-thrillers he enjoyed, romance fiction he wouldn’t touch, intermixed with history, biography, and even a few philosophical tomes. Admittedly, he didn’t read much, but he saw dozens of books here he wouldn’t mind opening on a rainy evening.
More comfortable with that discovery, he scanned the rest of the room. Instead of the pink and lace confections he’d encountered in one too many boudoirs, Penelope favored clean, modern lines and good, solid wood. He ran his fingers over the polished oak of her dresser, nudging the framed pictures of her niece and nephew that were almost the only clutter there. He suspected the silk rose in a crystal vase was a gift from someone she loved, and he hoped it was from the kids or her parents.
The bed with its high back was as sleek and elegantly designed as Penelope herself. A simple cream-colored, quilted down comforter covered the mattress, contrasting with the rich chocolate brown linens. A man could almost live with linens like that, even if—after closer investigation—they were trimmed in champagne satin ribbon. The thick feather pillows were like enormous chocolates, sinfully soft and decadent. Charlie could think of any number of tempting things he could do with those pillows and Penelope in the bed.
Except he’d told her he wouldn’t.
Maybe he had time to run back to that drugstore.... Why the hell hadn’t he thought of it while they were there?
He heard the shower stop. She’d be drying off now, and spraying herself with some of that oily fragrance he’d seen in the tub. She’d come out all sweet-smelling, shiny, and soft, and there wouldn’t be a damned thing he could do about it. If he didn’t go in there right now, she’d probably cover up all that creamy skin with some hideous man-tailored pajamas. He could imagine how her curves would push at the V neck of the shirt and fill out the boxy trousers, making him ache with desire.
Hell, he’d be better off on the sofa.
Snatching up a pillow and a blanket he found in the chest at the foot of her bed, Charlie hurried toward the door. He met Penelope coming in.
Her eyes widened at the stack in his hands, and she looked at him questioningly. Charlie was grateful the pillows disguised his lower half. As if he weren’t already aroused enough, the appreciation he read in her gaze as it settled on his uncovered chest nearly crippled him.
“The bed isn’t big enough?” she inquired with a modicum of hurt.
He’d been almost right. Beneath the thick black spill of her hair, she wore a tailored, silky nightshirt in baby blue instead of pajamas. He could see the shadow between her breasts where they rose and fell against the cloth. Charlie bit back a moan and heroically stood steadfast against temptation.
“Not for both of us,” he replied in his best John Wayne imitation. At her puzzlement, he caved. “I’m not holding this pillow because I have a lust for chickens,” he admitted. “Go on to bed, get some rest. I’ll sleep a hell of a lot better on the sofa.”
She was a little slow on the uptake. Miss Penelope Albright apparently wasn’t too bright in recognizing the temptation she presented to the opposite sex. How she could be so blind to her abundant charms mystified him, but Charlie liked the way she tilted her head and looked at him as if he were the only man in the world.
That realization floored him. She’d not once looked at another man since he’d met her. Not once. Most beautiful women were relentless flirts. Penelope, however, hadn’t even smiled at the worldly Roger Henwood, or tried to wrap the pilot around her little finger, or played games with any of the men they’d encountered these last few days. Hell, he knew women who would have flirted with the drugstore clerk. Not Penelope. She didn’t even acknowledge their existence. But she was acknowledging his now.
He detected a distinct gleam of satisfaction in her eyes as she realized why he was running from her bed. If she had feathers, she’d be preening them. Charlie considered dropping the damned pillow, grabbing her, and to hell with the consequences. Only, those consequences had wreaked havoc with his mind all day. He couldn’t risk an instant replay.
“I’d hate to be the reason for a gallant gentleman fleeing from the scene of battle,” she said mischievously, touching her upper lip with the seductive tip of her tongue. “I’ve never terrified a man that badly before.” She trailed a neatly manicured fingertip down the valley between his pectorals.
That did it. He’d never left a challenge unanswered, and he wasn’t about to start now, even if his opponent was female. Dropping the pillow, letting the towel slide away with it, Charlie grabbed his daredevil hostess by her baby blue silk waist and hauled her from the floor.
“Charlie!” She whispered the cry near his ear as he kicked the pillow and blanket out of his way and carried her to the bed.
“I’m not one of your wimpy pussycats,” he growled as he fell on top of her. “And I’m not too dumb to know there are ways of making love without making babies. Let’s work out a few more of these differences between us.”
Her fingers dug deeply into his shoulders as he pressed her into the comforter and covered her mouth with his, but her protest died the instant their breaths mingled and their tongues touched. If she’d left him any shred of ego at all, he’d believe she’d goaded him into this on purpose.
A moment later, as her knowing fingers wrapped around his arousal and her lips fastened on his nipple, Charlie knew he’d been had, and the pleasure coursing through him mixed with heady triumph. Sinking his hands in silken hair, he took her with him as he rolled over on his back and settled her on top of him. This time, Miss Penelope would have t
o admit that she was the one who needed this.
He gasped with pleasure at her nipping teeth, and his whole body bucked with the powerful desire to bury himself inside her. Hell, at this rate, she would turn him into that whimpering pussycat....
And he’d die happy.
Before her tempting mouth could slide lower, Charlie rolled Penelope on her back, and, unbuttoning her shirt, applied the same principle she’d used against him. Her suppressed cry of joy relieved any anxiety he might have felt about the equality of this battle of the sexes. The lust was mutual.
With that in mind and her breasts firmly in hand, he slid down her perfumed body until he reached the nub they both wanted him to touch.
He’d gladly writhe beneath her as she did beneath him now. He just wanted to do it to her first.
TWENTY-THREE
“I hate you,” Penelope murmured against the sweaty salt of Charlie’s shoulder as dawn worked its way through the bedroom window.
“Ummm, I hate you too.” He wrapped his hand in her hair where it spilled across his chest. “I always hate women who give me great sex.”
Great sex. Of course. That’s all it was. He was a blatantly physical man. To him, this was just a physical encounter, a release of pent-up hormones, a venting of frustrated testosterone. Really great sex. Nothing more. Oddly, a modicum of relief seeped through her at that realization.
Penelope twirled a hair on his chest, and Charlie tucked her more comfortably into the curve of his arm and shoulder. She’d never had great sex before. So, why shouldn’t she enjoy great sex while it lasted, like men did? It wasn’t as if she was in danger of losing her heart. Disillusionment had broken that long ago.
Smiling in satisfaction, Penelope draped her bare leg across Charlie’s. His hand slid over the curve of her hip to cup her buttock.
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